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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991249">Mmph</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ninguém Tá Olhando | Nobody's Looking (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:09:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greta discovers ice cream.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mmph</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Nobody’s Looking or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.<br/>A/N: Set early S1.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my <i>God</i>.”</p>
<p>The phrase automatically catches Greta’s attention, even though she doesn’t want it to—at the moment, she’s trying desperately to think of anything <i>but</i> the chief, but the all-too-human naivety surrounding that lone office, <i>anything but the hamster.</i> The whole thing makes her feel so incredibly, scathingly, embarrassingly <i>stupid</i>, and she’s been stupid <i>for thousands of years</i>, whereas Ulisses walks right in one day and immediately starts asking all the questions Greta took for granted. The existential plunge has left her in a whirlwind of emotional turbulence. One minute, she’s catatonic with depression, the next, she’s in awe of the sheer sensation that is relieving one’s bowels. Then she spots another Angelus slaving away under Fred’s useless scrutiny and she’s furious again.</p>
<p>She’s in a particularly despondent mood. And then she hears that feminine voice lilt with boundless pleasure. Milling through a busy public square, Greta turns her head towards a young woman at a small table outside a bright and beautiful café. The waitress is setting down a tray on the woman’s table, and the woman exclaims, “This looks absolutely <i>delicious!</i>”</p>
<p>“It is,” the waitress proudly agrees. “One of our best sellers! I’d have it every day if I didn’t have to worry about packing on the pounds.” She chuckles jovially, even though she’s absolutely tiny. Her patron groans in obvious understanding. Greta’s gaze zeros in on the object of their desires: a large helping of—</p>
<p>She doesn’t actually know what of. She’s never much paid attention to the particulars of human food before the last few days, and her new knowledge, despite a spiral of binge-eating everything in sight, is still limited. The waitress sets a miniscule spoon down on the checkered tablecloth and announces, “Double-chocolate fudge sundae. Enjoy!”</p>
<p>“I will!” the customer promises. The waitress smiles and wanders back into the café, where happy, well-fed customers quickly gesture her over for keen compliments. The patron picks up her spoon and goes in for a bite.</p>
<p>The spoon doesn’t make it to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, head jerking to the left. Looking right through Greta, she cries, “Jimmy? <i>Jimmy!</i>” Then she’s snatching up her purse and bolting right out of her seat, double-fudge chocolate sundae entirely forgotten. Greta smoothly steps out of the way to avoid being hit and doesn’t turn to see if the human makes her destination. </p>
<p>Instead, Greta stares at the table. The sundae sits there, pristine and untouched, glistening in the midday sun. A single bead of condensation rolls down the side of the clear bowl. A passing breeze stirs the stem of the cherry on top. There are crumbled bits scattered festively about the bowl, maybe nuts. Greta doesn’t know what kind. She doesn’t know what they’ll taste like. <i>But she could.</i></p>
<p>It’s like the hamster set it all up just for her, wanting, <i>willing</i> her to try new things, to <i>taste</i> new delights. It’s all so <i>easy</i>.</p>
<p>Greta storms towards the table. She drops into the chair, grabs the spoon, and forks a giant scoop into her mouth before Fred’s voice can start internally scolding her. </p>
<p>Her entire mouth numbs with the sting of ice. It works up into her brain like a shooting headache: <i>a brand new sensation</i>. It’s cold, so cold, but the dark drizzle on top is <i>warm</i>, and <i>smooth</i>, and so, so creamy, and the fluffy white substance underneath melts so sticky-sweet down her tongue. She swallows and feels the scratch of crumbled maybe-nuts against her throat. She shoves another spoonful in.</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s so good.</i>
</p>
<p>Insanely, wildly, wondrously <i>good</i>. Absolutely delicious. The best thing she’s ever tasted. Ever experienced. She’s gone thousands of years without ever eating a single thing, and for a good chunk of that time, double-chocolate fudge sundaes must’ve existed. And she deprived herself like a <i>fool</i>.</p>
<p>Fred’s a fool. Wanda’s a fool. Even Cherub’s a fool. Ulisses is a genius and Chun <i>has</i> to taste this. Greta will tell them all about it. It’s been hundreds of years since she experienced anything worth reporting, but she could write a ten-page essay on double-chocolate fudge sundaes. </p>
<p>Someone screams. Smeared with sundae juices, Greta glances sideways—the woman’s returned, and she’s staring at the table, wide-eyed and shaking. She’s likely watching her fork hover in midair and bits of her dessert disappear into nothingness. </p>
<p>Greta...</p>
<p>Doesn’t give a shit. </p>
<p>She picks up the sundae and walks off, eating and licking up every last drop in a state of holy euphoria.</p>
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